


Gru's Defective Minion

by BingingLabiaLover69



Category: Despicable Me - Fandom, Minions - Fandom
Genre: Abusive Parents, Abusive Relationships, Choking, Domestic Violence, Minions, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Other, Past Domestic Violence, Peirre Coffin, Post-Despicable Me 2, Pre-Minions, Teenage Drama, Teenage Rebellion, Violence, dr nefario - Freeform, gru felonius, lucy wilde - Freeform, qiana - Freeform, teenage angst, trama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23720734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BingingLabiaLover69/pseuds/BingingLabiaLover69
Summary: Gru is concerned for her daughter. Her loyalty to her teacher's income decreases due to her poor academic performance in school. She lacks obedience more than she used to. But with the help from her father Gru, they cross the thin line threshold separating hate and love. Together, they open all seven of their chakras and become invincible gods. jk, he hits her.In this AU of Pierre Coffin's Despicable Me world, Gru clones one minion named Qiana. Go forget about Kevin, Stuart, Bob and all the other yellow, irking midgets because only one of them exists in this AU. Gru is a black man married to Lucy who is also another black person. Gru made a few alterations to his clones DNA. Her father gave her white skin to avoid what society now thinks is considered racial discrimination. A few days after her birth, her skin turned yellow due to cell d deficiency and lack of sun exposure. The result was so hilarious he made yet another alteration to her DNA, resulting in permanent yellow skin. This story takes place in the future, so you can imagine the last ten World Wars where Lung Sung Dun (descendant of Kim Jong Un) reacted when google mistranslated our future President's tweet from 'Peace among you' to 'piss on you.'
Relationships: Qiana&inmate
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	Gru's Defective Minion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You're a good good father  
> It's who you are  
> It's who you are  
> and I'm loved by you-"  
> Chris Tomlin

The room was dark with the moon casting a dim light threw the septate dusted blinds of her window. The room didn't possess any source of temperature moderation. Her father blocked air flow from reaching her vents. Twice he allowed it, because he was desiring a furious reaction from her after he farted into it. The first flow, he humored at his daughter holding her shirt over her nasal. But the second time, she didn't react, and that was the final time he kept her room cool.

“Hnnnnnnggg,” Qiana groaned as she stretched herself out onto her mattress. Her bedroom was humid and took up her oxygen. She lied naked under her sheets; her mattress wet with old sweat. But under all that discomfort, her mind took a break from its pensive state, and trailed off into the unconscious bliss.

Tonight, she was asleep. Odd. Most nights, she couldn’t sleep. She spent her waking hours replaying scenes that had taken course in her life. Forcing the past to play humiliating scenes in her head, over and over. Coming up with various ways of how she should have handled the situation, even if the method didn’t make sense. Hoping one day, she’d live without her mistakes. And then, she could sleep peacefully like everyone else. This night, she should have been alert and timid. Waiting for a hard ass beating from her dad. If he did come today, by now, she shouldn’t hardly hold an ass up. But her father was unaware of the indelible banishment she received.

It was a relief to find her father crashed out on his couch, when she took an Uber home from afterschool special ed. His hand lying limp on the edge of his couch, a few inches below his fingers, laid his iPad. Fresh coffee stains decorated his couch. She could smell it. He hadn’t been washed out long.

Hope crawled through her spine in goose bumps. She had pondered several slightly satisfying alternated responses from her father. One included the possibility of him not giving a shit because it had been hours since the event. Or perhaps she was bullshitting herself so she could sleep in peace. Maybe her dad already knew but was too wasted to care. In another alternate and likely scenario, he woke up and found out about her banishment, he would’ve said ‘it’s too early for this’ despite the current time and head over to Starbucks to refill his extra-large cup of coffee and come back for a piece of her ass. That would give her some time to flee.

For the past year, Qiana was in and out of insanity asylums, special ed groups, and a prison. The drastic shift in her behavior concerned her father the most as it gave his company a bad reputation, which was now known as ‘the father with that retarded daughter.’ He poured coffee on himself the month his salary had dropped due to people’s ideal parenting values for his daughter didn’t meet. Numerous emails and public interactions with strangers shunning him for when doctors identified two STD's in her system. The news claimed her diseases were likely due to her giving head to a bus peer in the back as evidenced from a viral video.

After that incident, he was beating her ass every day. In the morning, he beat her ass. He came up from behind her with a light hit, when he visited her in the cafeteria. She flinched, quickly turning to face him. Her reaction a lot more timid, than his strike. The students snickered when they witnessed her face struck with extreme horror. And practically, anytime his experiments got tedious, boring, or stressful, he beat his daughter's ass. Countless hours of beatings and ass assaults performed everywhere and anytime he pleased. She rarely met his expectations, which resulted in various methods of punishments including but not limited to holding a fermented fruit juice glass bottle over her head while facing the corner of a wall as he fired metallic ball projectiles from his BB gun to forcing banana deepthroats while hanging her from her feet until she fainted.

Ass beatings trailed back to her toddler age. She didn’t last long standing up in her highchair before losing her balance over a spanking. For most of her life, she spent hours studying, memorizing vocabulary words in preparation for the upcoming summative assessments. But eventually she was sick of it. No matter how hard she tried to live up to those expectations, her father would always point out a flaw. It was last year when she initiated full disobedience. Not the occasional minor rebellions when she earned a B instead of an A or when her makeup didn't fully cover a bruise. No, she had enough, and was now fully rebelling against him. Despite her countless punishments, she continued to do whatever she pleased.

One time, in the arts and crafts isles, she spotted a black and a white spray can both small enough to fit in her bra. So she did. Hope was the most boring class of them all; most days dress out and hang in the gym for half an hour. So one day, she disappeared behind the bleachers and sneaked to the entrance of the locker room. She kicked the bucket over, and the door slammed behind her. She knew she was already doomed for another beating when she heard sand spilling behind her.

She opened her locker and took her backpack to a stall. She hopped on the rim on the toilet seat and begun writing. A student named Isabelle who tagged along behind her, smelled paint and followed the sound of it leaving its bottle. She would have left her alone if it smelt like perfume. But its contents reeked of fresh paint. Two shoes were visible threw the generous privacy the stall offered. Isabelle was another of Qiana's countless enemies who thought it'd be hilarious to follow her everywhere and anytime she pleased as if she were her personal tag-along clown. She stood behind her and watched as she bordered the words 'whites only' in black paint. A huge, arched arrow pointed to the toilet.

She was suspended for a month. And when she came back, she snuck into the locker room, again. She scribbled brain dump on every square tile on the wall and flushed the pens down the toilet. Many people left their bags lying on the floor, thinking their bags were secure. But oh, how those fools were terribly misguided. Qiana ate every snack she found, clogged the sink with hair balls she plucked off from eleven hairbrushes and took home sketches she would later use for references. And tomorrow, she would return them to whatever backpack she saw first. Or at least, that's what she thought she would have done if it weren't for those trespassing imbeciles. As predictable, she was suspended, and inevitably, spanked.

No matter how hard he hit, humiliated, and belittled her needs, she continued sneaking out of her house and giving up her pussy. Despite her father being one of the world's smartest scientists in the world owning millions of dollars, he refused to buy her pads every time she begged for them. Snickering at the humorous memory of her tottering the halls with a huge blood stain spattered on her ass, which was already trickling down her thigh. So, she had many records of being caught stealing food, pads, and lube from convenience stores. Even though, there was enough food for her at the house, she chose to steal some just for fun.

He set up an alarm system in his house. Every door and every window that opened sent a notification to Gru’s phone. Since the extreme alteration in her behavior, Qiana had been occupied with more attention than ever. Teachers, medical doctors, guidance consolers, deputies, etc. always kept an eye on her. Only leaving her alone when she was acquainted in her father’s home. No one could keep their eyes off her for a minute. When they looked back to find her digging into somebody’s backpack. There were countless records of her shoplifting and abusing drugs. She stole money from her peer’s backpacks when they left the locker room, so she could afford edibles. Of course, she managed to distract authorities, and make it thru the security system without a peep.

As ironic and stupid as that sounds, she broke laws regardless of their consequences. But why? The judge asked her this during her trial. She was dumbfounded with this question. Most of her decisions were done on impulse. She would bicycle three miles to a church, walk her bicycle behind the church into its yard. And get lost in the trees. And she would have no clue why she was there. Perhaps, the jury would have sympathized with her if she had stolen money to buy pads, instead. But even if she did, word couldn't get out saying Professor Felonius neglected his daughter of pads. Even if the sexually transmitted diseases did give him a bit of a bad reputation. Most of the blame was thrown on her with the help of Gru's agent. 

It had been two weeks since her father placed his hands on her. To her, that meant her father had given up. Her constant law-breaking behavior was so stressful for him that he'd be better off not caring. Or a slightly less hopeful reason, he was going to take a long vacation that lasted four years. Her teachers, medics, and cops had taken more breaks than usual now.

Her dad grew up in poverty with holes in his jeans. Not because he was intentionally mutilating his cloths as fashion statement, but because he had worn them for so long that they wore out. His mother could only afford two pairs, anyway. Food was sacred in their house. Any morsel his peers left on their lunch tray was precious and consumed by him.

He despised his family’s poor living condition, so throughout middle and high school, he focused in class and obeyed his teachers. After seven years of tedious work and long nights of memorizing terms with their definitions, he was awarded with three scholarships. He majored in computer science, then married Lucy Wilde. Now at 55, he visits different schools in the district, influencing kids to work hard in school so they won’t have to later. Influencing teenagers to get good grades these next four years. Begging them not to walk the path her daughter walks today. He was sure in four years; she would be in the streets with a piece of cardboard that begs for money.

Thru elementary school, Qiana was silent. Occasionally speaking when answering her classmate’s questions. Her response was sarcastic, and her classmates were befuddled when they received their grades and learned they had been gullible enough to let her feed them lies. They blamed her for their incorrect answers when she didn't share her correct answers. She sunk into her desk, watching the kids around her blissfully converse which she longed for. But she didn’t want to engage in over dramatic, poorly spoken conversations about their demise for the person who they caught throwing a water bottle in a weird manner while unnecessarily screeching, “yeeet!”

Now a days, many dumb and over dramatically poorly spoken conversations were about her more than ever. Ever since she was escorted by a teacher outside school and into the track field when she caught her vaping in the bathroom. They waited for what felt like hours in unbearable heat until an officer arrived. During his lecture on felonies, she proudly punched him in the shoulder. His passive insults caused him the first strike. “I understand you're a little special with a few minor indelible mental illnesses on your permanent record, but just because you're the daughter of a very successful scientist doesn’t excuse you from enjoying yourself. You must alter your fatal smoking habits for our convenience”

Well, at least that's how she interpreted his monologue about how many teenagers suffer a lifelong consequence from smoking. That fatal consequence is imprisonment. Felt like the bastard was gonna talk forever, if Qiana hadn’t interfered. Anyways, the cafeteria gathered around the window, watching her fleeing to the bus parking lot and jumping the fence. She screamed unintelligible gibberish mimicking an advanced discussion she picked up from a group of deformed lunch students bobbing their heads. The officer chased after her with his taser ready. She wasn't heard from or seen on campus again for the rest of the school year.

Her days in prison were rough and because of that, they reminded her of home but without the constant ass whippings and harsh surgical experiments. A few months in, and her confidence skyrocketed. Her surgical scars healed and she felt like flirting with the first young lady she laid eyes on. So, she did. She flirted with a few of her roommates and successfully won one of their pussies. No one fought her even though she was still considered a newbie. The two love birds hid in the chapel and made out until they were caught by an inmate. She snitched on them. The deputy arrived to the scene and hesitated for ten minutes, peering thru a window. After he ejaculated in the ground and covered it with sand, he escorted them out of the chapel. And they were sent to bed without food.

Months later, her sentence ended. At dawn, the police escorted her outside the building, and they waited till the afternoon for her father to arrive. After a long conversation with the cops, he drove his car to the highway, and parked in a ditch. He turned her over and slammed her face into the car's melting panel. And sunk her pants below mid-thigh and beat her with his hand.

The excruciating humiliation throbbed in her mind all day long. Glances from peers gave her chills. When there were people around, sniggers and insults were her only company. To everyone, her existence was hilarious. Public ass beatings, her careless idiosyncratic fashion. Her sent reeked of bile and fungus. On numerous nights, she had pondered the drastic change in her frowned upon social status if she’d bring her tank top to school, revealing her pubes. She thought about the kids feigning puke sounds. And how they would beg her for hours, "Please wear a shirt!" She’d alter her appearance for their selfish convenience. The resentment and pussy denial her past mates inflicted upon her lowered her self-esteem with each boy.

It was a never-ending feud between her father and herself to get a wax. He stuck and ripped hundreds of squares of the stickiest duck tap Dr. Nefario invented. Hundreds of people belched in disgust at her hairs curling along the edge of her bathing suit she wore when she was nine. Since then, she buys men’s bathing top and bottoms, covering all her pubes. She wept at her reflection. She felt comfortable with pubs intact, but she knew the appearance wasn’t attractive. Unlike cutting herself, she despises the unbearable fact that no amount of makeup, exercise, or kindness would mend her DNA. 

For most of her life, she avoided mirrors. Which is difficult when there's a large mirror in your room. She held her hand to her eyebrows - same gesture used to block an early or late sun over the horizon. If she accidentally glanced in the mirror, she would distract herself from that quick, unpleasant memory. As she became better at forgetting, it rarely crossed her mind. And it relieved her to know how much work she’d got done without acknowledging the elephant in the room. 

When she did see herself, she saw an unlovable yellow tic-tac. She has hairy zits sprinkled onto her face, breasts and back. Why did she keep going? Under all this tragedy, why did she continue to live? Her window was her only escape route. Initially pushing out the screen and burying it. The lawnmower put his job on hold when he noticed. He knocked on Gru’s door to politely inform him of the risk he was taking without a screen installed.

Somedays, she spent the first five hours of the day, finishing an interesting novel. Insomnia needed distractions from kicking itself in the butt all night long about conversations she had with people prior the night she pondered them. Whether it was starting a conversation or joining one, Qiana regretted it all. Coming up with pathetic comebacks to her nemesis’s retorts ridiculing her pathetic existence. She felt naked in people’s eye. She felt guilty of something but didn’t know what it was, so she made up assumptions. On days where the sun beat down on her back, and the sky was clear, her face flushed with embarrassment. When her father was unattended at the house, off drowning himself in coffee and discussing ethics and economy with the world's biggest undercover thugs, she took strides. Once, when she was almost home, she turned around when she refused to walk around street soccer.

Neighbors passed by her, greeted her, and glanced below her nonexistent neck, then back to their trail. She looked at her beasts, curious if her nipples had perked or worse; forgot her bra. In these moments, she could hear the unsettling snickers like itches in her ear lobe mocking her blood-stained pants, all over again. But when she got home, her pants were astonishingly spotless. As for her panties, the usual lubricant from her cervix trickled out her hymen and filled her pussy. Staining the undergarment with its moisture.

So what scared her?

Footsteps stormed down the hallway towards her room. As they rushed to the door, they grabbed the doorknob tightly and shook it violently. Still soundly asleep, the beast stopped to bangs his fists on the door. Continuing his intrusion, a few quick jerks of the knob, and he yanked the curvy appendage off the door. He peaked threw the spiky hole it left. Didn’t see much but her mirror. The door plowed into the wall, dust flying as it made a dent and broke from its border.

With his fists balled and knuckles white, one of them shock her awake when it rained on her cheek, harder than hail. He propped himself onto one knee, and the other foot was uncomfortably pinning her forehead. She hit her back against the wall at his primitive impulses. She pinned herself to the wall, wishing she was a ghost. In the corner of her eye, she spotted a puckered piece of paper in his pocket. He took it out and flattened the crumbled note enough for legibility. He glanced at the paper, then back at Qiana. He summarized, “To the parents of the Felonius Family, we are very unfortunate to inform you that your daughter with special needs has been EXPELLED from Lake Pool Highschool!!”

He shoved it in her face. He pulled her wrist towards him and with his other hand, he hammered her arm. He glared at her and spoke as if he had memorized this speech. “Due to the following numerous atrocities that include but are NOT limited to beating up cops, skipping classes to vandalize bathrooms; WRITING RACIST GRAFFITI ON THE WALL, flushing pens down the toilet, clogging sinks with dirty hair lent, SMOKING, blowjobs, and scribbling on other people's desks,” he yelled. She glared at him, feigning smug to hide her tears. “All your acts of disobedience and failure to cooperate with the law makes ME LOOK LIKE A FUCKING JOKE! I've billed insurance companies and wasted thousands of dollars on mental institutions, medications that you never take, and countless other after school programs so you can get better. But nooooo. No matter how hard I try, you continue to hurt everyone, yourself, and especially me! And now this?" He gestured to the winkled note, and shoved it in her face. She flinched, covering her face with her hands and arms. "I expect better from you. I know you're smarter than this," his tone flat.

“Oh, and after everything I’ve done to help you, you continue to satisfy your selfish cravings! Because of your retarded brain, you have three STDs, your academic performance is dumb, and worst of all, you’re not even trying!” He stepped onto her femur just above her patella. His arms waving and flying up in exaggeration. She quivered, "Ow." She removed her hand from her face to his uncouthly ankle, the other still protective of her head. Her grasp tried supporting the weight by lifting it. He leaned on it, and his face met hers, nose stabbing her head above her googles.

“This...” he gestured to the paper again and then, her room. “This is NOT the person I RAISED you to be!" She winced when she saw her father's arm pull back with a vicious forthcoming attack for a split second. With this wince, she quickly bent down with her arms wrapped protectively over her head. Where she had ducked, her father jabbed, creating a newborn dent in the wall. A hand firmly tightened around her neck. She involuntary tried her hardest to push him away, but he beat at her arms.

“Do you see that wall?" One hand let go of her neck, and briefly pointed to the damage. Qiana was quivering and her lips made unintelligible murmurs. But she zeroed in on his face. His other hand left her throat. She knew something was broken up, behind her. One quick glance at the dent would be a foolish move. Her body rigid, even for his demands. She glared at him, and he return the glare with generous daggers. “ANSWER ME YOU LITTLE SHIT,” he demanded a response. His voice becoming more threatening with each demand. “LOOK AT THE FUCKING WALL!"

“I SEE IT OKAY,” she choked out, after recovering from half a minute of her Adam's apple being pushed against her esophagus and other parts of the back of her throat. His booming voice scratching her eardrum. Their voices were unnecessarily capacious for their proximity. Hearing each other’s voices reminded them of their last encounter; unsettling and merciless.

His hand pressed her face into the wall, beneath the dent. She thought the pressure would crack her glabella. The damage appeared blurry in her vision like a sloppy ink stroke. “That pathetic wall is going to be your face if you EVER disobey me again! DO YOU HERE ME!? YOUR FACE WILL BE A BLOODY MESS AND YOU’LL LIVE WITH IT YOUR WHOLE LIFE!”

Her hands trembled in her grasp around his arm. She pushed at his body with every muscle cell she could muster. Black spots filtered her foggy vision. Her lungs ached as if they’d smoked Takis. But her intimidation only encouraged him. “IS THAT CLEAR?”

“YES,” her voice cracked. Fresh wet crimson drops stained her sheets. Her tongue swiped her upper lip, it had a salt and iron flavor. Another hard slap to her cheek threw her off balance, but her limbs caught her, and two had already been fully on the bed.Hope laid in her narrow pupils when he stood up. Before exiting, he was in possession of the door; picked it up like it was made of foam, and successfully made yet another dent in her mirror.

He stormed out, and into the kitchen, banging his fists on the oven. Chaos broke out as the crazy monkey banged a pan against his head and the fridge. The sound of sand spilling out on kitchen tile was strangely intriguing, and her room received a generous waft of it - flour. His head quickly rammed itself against kitchen ware. 

At the silence of kitchen ware settling down, she held her breath to enhance audio. Each bang came with a hoarse grunt. Her larynx felt weird in her neck, and where his nails had dug in - singed when her finger swiped along the bruised skin. She laid on her messy bedsheets, trembling with a headache. She tried to relax herself by breathing rhythmically. Slowly breathing, filling her lungs with oxygen, holding it. Then, slowly exhaling. Remembering not to pause after fully exhaling. She desperately wanted to scream. To shout and weep loudly, hoping someone will listen. But to no avail. Only quiet whimpers filled the room. So not to attract round two of tragedy from her nowhere near lingering father.


End file.
